


if I should lose you now

by Rehearsal_Dweller



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Almost Love Confessions, M/M, post-armageddon't
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-25
Updated: 2019-07-25
Packaged: 2020-07-19 14:34:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,507
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19975672
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rehearsal_Dweller/pseuds/Rehearsal_Dweller
Summary: A few times, Aziraphale opened his mouth to say something that got stuck in the back of his throat and pushed another thing out in its place. He wasn’t sure exactly what it was, this thing that he kept trying to say, only that it was probably a bad idea to say it.





	if I should lose you now

**Author's Note:**

> Title from "so close" from Enchanted, because I was listening to it in the car the other day while I was thinking about Good Omens and it _hurt._  
>  I read the book when I was in HS and never wrote any fic for it, but the show reignited my love for Good Omens, so here we are. This is pretty firmly in the show timeline, although it might be a little off anyway. Anyway, I hope you like it!

Warlock’s eleventh birthday was fast approaching, and Aziraphale was not ready. He’d lived the last 6000 odd years on Earth, and in a few days it was all going to end. After all this time, the humans and their oddities and all the little things that made Earth _Earth_ had really grown on him. Not to mention Crowley.

Come the end of the world, they’d likely never see each other again. Aziraphale had spent quite a while avoiding thinking about this point, because if he thought about it he’d have to think about how he _felt_ about it, and if he thought about how he felt about it he’d have to think about how he felt about _Crowley_ , and those were dangerous thoughts to be having.

Because when it came down to it, as much as Aziraphale would miss all the little things that had made him fall in love with Earth, he knew he’d miss Crowley more. Because he was, rather despite himself, in love with Crowley.

They’d been falling in and out of each other’s lives for six millennia, sometimes going decades or even centuries without seeing each other. However, the longer they’d been here, the more often they’d found each other. All of which had come together to find them in these last eleven years, practically living in each other’s pockets. And, of course, the more they’d seen of each other, the more in love Aziraphale fell. But the more in love Aziraphale fell, the more guilty he felt for falling in the first place. The contradiction was driving him a little bit mad. And days like today made everything harder.

Crowley strolled into the bookshop exactly on schedule, though Aziraphale would never be so rude as to point this out. Crowley liked to be “fashionably late.”

“You’ve cut your hair,” he said instead.

“Mm, yeah, fancied a change,” Crowley replied, sweeping a hand over the newly shorter style.

“Leaning back toward Anthony, then?” asked Aziraphale. Crowley’s concept of human gender was very flexible.

“Rather,” said Crowley. He’d been using another name with the humans for the last decade or so, insisting when Aziraphale asked that being a woman called Anthony would raise eyebrows. Aziraphale, who’d almost exclusively gone by Aziraphale through human history, didn’t really get it.

“Well, I’ll miss the longer hair,” Aziraphale said, “reminded me of the old days. Not that the short doesn’t look, ah, _dashing_ and all. It looks quite good actually.”

Crowley gave him a funny look and a half smile as he turned away toward the wine rack. The rest of the evening fell into their usual patterns, patterns they ( _Aziraphale)_ have spent centuries pretending not to have. They drink together, they socialize, they find some excuse to just enjoy each other’s company, and at the end of the night they’ll part ways as if it never happened, at least Officially.

(None of their meetings had ever happened, Officially. They were often still quite careful, despite millennia of evidence that their superiors weren’t paying them much close attention, although this last decade or so had gotten steadily sloppier as the End Of The World approached.)

As the night went on, they spiraled closer and closer to talking about the one thing they really didn’t want to talk about.

That tonight was the last time they would meet before the End Times started in earnest.

Sure, Warlock’s birthday was on Wednesday, and they’d already planned to meet on _Tuesday_ , but that was all for final planning before it all went to shit.

So tonight, _tonight_ , Aziraphale sat across from his enemy, his adversary, his counterpart, his _dearest and only friend_ , waiting for the end of the world and politely not talking about it. A few times, he opened his mouth to say something that got stuck in the back of his throat and pushed another thing out in its place. He wasn’t sure exactly what it was, this thing that he kept trying to say, only that it was probably a bad idea to say it.

It was probably something like _I’ll miss you terribly, when it all ends._

Something like _I’d give the rest of it up, if I knew we’d still be together._

Something like _I love you._

Something like _Love me?_

So he didn’t say any of it. He rambled, instead, about near misses with almost-customers and listened to Crowley describe his latest feat of widespread low-level evil. When they finally sobered up and Crowley decided it was time to leave (so late in the evening that it was practically early), Aziraphale walked him to the door, because that’s what you do.

They paused just inside the doorway, right on the edge of something Important. They looked at each other for a long moment, clear blue eyes facing unreadable black lenses. All those wonderful, terrible, absurd things that Aziraphale could never let himself say bubbled up into his throat again.

They were so _close_ –

The moment passed. Crowley left.

Time to face the End Times.

\--

The World Did Not End.

This was a not unpleasant but not entirely expected outcome for the events of Armageddon, especially given that Aziraphale and Crowley had spent their decade of prep time working with the wrong child. Somehow despite this (or, perhaps, because of it) Adam was a very well rounded, reasonable kid. And he hadn’t ended the world so, win.

This left Aziraphale and Crowley on a bus back to London, facing down the rest of their (immortal) lives, as long as they could get through tomorrow. Neither was quite sure when their former sides would come for them. Both were sure that they would.

_Choose your faces wisely_.

He was starting to have an inkling of what that might mean for them, but that was a conversation for later in the evening. Just now, on the bus, they didn’t talk at all. Instead they sat silently, legs pressed together, Aziraphale’s hand touching Crowley’s but not holding it. They felt, again, on the edge of something. Something important.

Something that _needed_ saying, because they hadn’t said it before.

And yet neither of them said it.

The bus dropped them out just outside Crowley’s building. Once they were safely inside, it was Crowley who said:

“I think we need to swap bodies.”

Aziraphale nodded. “There’s only one surefire way for them to – well. I’m sure they’ll want us dead and gone, after that little show.”

Neither suggested that they might not be able to pull it off. They had been friends for six thousand years, since time itself was invented. And under the surface of their friendship, running deep into the cores of their beings, love had been simmering for almost as long. There was no one in the universe, save Herself and maybe not even Her, who knew Crowley or Aziraphale better than Aziraphale and Crowley.

They practiced the switch back and forth a few times. Drinks were had. They practiced being each other, less for need than for fun. More drinks were had. They put a record on. Yet more drinks were had.

So they once again found themselves dancing, literally and metaphorically, on the edge of something important.

A few times, Aziraphale opened his mouth to say something. Every time, he swallowed it back down.

He didn’t need to go blurting things out without thinking; they _would_ survive this. They had all of eternity to –

They _had_ to have all of eternity. There wasn’t another option. They hadn’t saved the world just to die the next morning. They hadn’t saved _each other_ to lose each other the next day.

Aziraphale bid a recently sober Crowley goodbye very early the next morning, with plans to reunite in a few hours in the park. They clasped hands, intending to switch bodies for real this time, and Aziraphale was struck by the urge to pull Crowley toward him and touch their foreheads together gently. Just this once, he gave in to the instinct.

When Crowley stepped away, he wore Aziraphale’s face. He slipped his sunglasses into Aziraphale’s free hand, but didn’t immediately release the other one. He opened his mouth to say something, but faltered.

_Good lord_ , thought Aziraphale _, is that what I always look like when I do that?_

“There’ll be time later,” Aziraphale said, squeezing then letting go of Crowley-in-Aziraphale’s-body’s hand. “All the time in the world.”

“All the time in the world,” Crowley echoed. He shook his head a little, then took another step back. “See you later, Angel.”

Regret stabbed through Aziraphale and he almost called Crowley back to finish the conversation. To draw out the confession that neither of them would give. What if this didn’t work?

But it had to work. They were not made for hasty confessions or for last minute declarations. Six thousand years led to this, and Aziraphale would be damned if he let this last bit be rushed. They were so _close_.

_But still,_ thought Aziraphale as he watched Crowley leave to face down Heaven for him, _so far._


End file.
